In our annual observations of Remembrance Day (November 11), we often think of the sacrifices made not just by men who died but by their families and loved ones in search of security, peace, and the abolition of evil from the Earth.

Scarcely do we give pause for more uncomfortable thoughts, however, which would mark a far more difficult commemoration of Memorial Day in the United States in springtime and Remembrance Day in the rest of the Commonwealth of Nations.

Every deceased fighter and contributor to war efforts made dignified sacrifices. But what about the indignity of sacrifices made on their behalves? What about the struggles because cheap politicians refused to buy them the correct kit? What about tactical or strategic errors made by their leaders? What about the altogether unnecessary conflicts that are still going on today?

It’s not so much that we don’t hold all of it in the same regard. It is that we rarely think about anything but the active, knowing sacrifices. In so many cases, and again to this day, men and women are sacrificed by circumstances, by egos, and by incompetence.

It is sadder to think that so many died not at the barrel of a gun, or the business end of a bayonet. But in entirely avoidable circumstances, which human action could well have arrested.

As ever, I leave you with the John McCrae poem, In Flanders Fields:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe: 
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high. 
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.